


The Spoken Word

by Blueroses_23, joy_shines



Series: Words of a Feather Flock Together [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Angel/Demon Relationship, Anxiety, Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale has a lot of issues let's be real, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Catharsis, Confessions, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying, Depression, Depressive Episode, Drinking, Drunk Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fanart, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, God is a shitty parent, Impact Play, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light BDSM, Light Masochism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Safewords, Self-Hatred, Self-Loathing, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Spanking, Stress Relief, Top Crowley (Good Omens), bondage as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23034025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueroses_23/pseuds/Blueroses_23, https://archiveofourown.org/users/joy_shines/pseuds/joy_shines
Summary: Crowley pays his favorite angel a visit and finds him very drunk and deep into a depressive spiral.They decide to try something new to help Aziraphale shake off his funk (and find the source of the nasty thoughts that made him spiral in the first place).(Potential TW for various mental health issues and meltdowns -  we go hard in this house. But don't worry, it has a happy ending.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Words of a Feather Flock Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655377
Comments: 26
Kudos: 153





	The Spoken Word

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks (AGAIN!) to Joy_shines for helping me co-write this!
> 
> (Once again, she wrote for Crowley, and I wrote for Azi and also did the editing--with permission, of course!)
> 
> UPDATE: Check the end notes for art by the amazing [Gearsmoke](/users/Gearsmoke/)!

"Hey, angel! Are you feeling up to dinner?”

One thoroughly chilled serpent swept into the bookshop after a day of freelance tempting (causing minor mischief in the park and then fucking off to see a film at the second-run theater - it was too blessedly cold and snowy for such an ophidian character to be running about). “I dunno about you, but it's bloody cold out there and I could use something hot..." 

His voice trailed off when he didn't see Aziraphale in the front, so he set down the bottle of spiced mead he'd bought and wound his way to the back.

"There you are. Erm...yeah, up for eating at that Thai place down the street? That hot-n-sour soup always hits the spot for me, and a good curry never seems to do you wrong, so…” Then he noticed the angel’s demeanor and paused. Crowley was used to finding the angel in all sorts of states: taking inventory, balancing the accounts, making tea, eating a snack, dug deep into a book. There was even that one, memorable time (not long after the Notpocalypse) when he’d stumbled on his friend laid across the couch with his Effort in hand. 

But he'd never seen his companion quite like this. “... everythin’ all right, angel?”

Aziraphale was sitting at the little table, staring into his whiskey glass as though it could eff the ineffable plan for him. It took the angel a moment to realize he was no longer alone in the bookshop, much less that someone else was speaking (that alone was odd, as Aziraphale was always attuned to the presence of Intruders in his nest and particularly attuned to the presence of one demon). He looked up, blinking in slow surprise before smiling. "Oh. Crowley. I--" _Didn't think you'd be back so soon._ "I'm perfectly tip-top, my dear. Just thought an afternoon drink would take the edge off this dreadful cold front." Given that the shop was a consistently comfortable temperature, the reply was flimsy at best. Aziraphale was willing to excuse himself, though, on the basis that he was finishing his eighth glass of Johnnie Walker Blue. He leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking softly. "Were you saying something about Thai food, my dear? I do feel rather peckish, but perhaps we could order in this time? Eat by the fire, perhaps put some of those holiday hymns on the radio." 

Crowley nodded. “'Course we can, angel.” Two long strides put him right beside Aziraphale's chair. One quick, but gentle, hand turned that beloved face towards his. "But first, you're gonna tell me what's buggin’ you. And for the record, you’re terrible at lying." 

"Er-" Sky-blue eyes went wide and the already-flushed cheeks deepened from pink to magenta. The angel reflexively leaned back, trying to escape, to defend, gaze averted. His fidgeting increased, becoming agitated, fingernails scraping lightly over the intricate designs carved into the glass. ".... I wouldn't... it's nothing, really. I would much rather finish this drink and sup with you by the fire than discuss my own silliness." 

The demon rolled his eyes. "Angel. Aziraphale. You’re still lying to me. You don't drink alone, without a book, in the middle of the day, over ‘nothing’. I'd rather have soup and warm mead with you, too, but hey! Neither of us is getting that until you spill the beans." Aziraphale was still refusing to make eye contact, body tense. Crowley crouched down in front of the angel, noticing from this angle that the well-worn waistcoat was… hanging unbuttoned? Oh. This was worse than he'd thought. His face and tone softened. "Hey… angel, you know nothing is too silly for me, yeah? So c'mon, tell me what's got you in this state, and then I can order supper. I'll even get you extra green tea ice cream."

The angel had the wherewithal to pout slightly when he was called out for his lies. That was a bad habit of his, he knew, but it often seemed like the kinder (and easier) option compared to truthfulness. 

But it _was_ Crowley asking. 

And Aziraphale did like green tea ice cream. 

"...very well," the angel sighed, slumping a bit, the tartan bow tie loose and rumpled around his neck. "I've just been feeling... extraordinarily useless these days. A complete dud." He tipped his head back, draining what was left of the whiskey and then scowling at the glass like it was entirely at fault for being empty. "I was a Cherubim once, did you know that? But after my spectacular failure in Eden, I was immediately demoted to Principality and put on babysitting duty in Soho. I can't say a desk job doesn't fit me better than a soldier's uniform, but it was completely insulting. I wasn't even given a proper hearing."

Crowley's fists clenched without his permission, and he once again regretted not having at least singed the eyebrows on those smug Archangels when he'd had the chance. Then he reminded himself that this was about Aziraphale, not him. He thought of how _he'd_ felt after his own parting of ways with Heaven. It was painful. It was… complicated. "Look, angel - you _know_ their standards are impossible, right? No one really lives up to them. And now you don’t have to worry about what they think or want anymore."

The angel let out a long sigh and refilled his glass, looking possibly the most beaten down he'd ever been since their fight on the bandstand. "Easier said than done, I'm afraid. I tried, for a very long time, I _tried_ to be everything Heaven wanted of me. I was bred for war, Crowley. That was my mission, my purpose, and even if I wasn't suited for it, I still tried my very best for a long time to please and obey my superiors. And the Almighty, by default." The hand holding his glass became unsteady. "But nothing was ever good enough. I remember a time, so very long ago, when Heaven wasn't so cold and the Archangels actually cared for the lower ranks. But then it… it changed. They became ruthless and demanding, and the Almighty never once intervened. I do believe they were quite happy to be rid of me when they assigned me to Earth. And from what you've told me, they were going to- to-" His fingers tightened on the glass, cracking it in a few places. "-to _erase me completely_ without a trial or even a second thought. I ask you, is that how someone with value is treated? What else am I, if not a completely worthless creation, if I can be discarded so easily?"

"Aziraphale." Crowley's voice had dropped, lower and steadier. 

It caught the angel’s attention.

"Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated. “I will not sit here and let you speak that way about yourself, so we’re gonna stop that right here.” Then he set a hand on the angel's knee, thumb stroking over the wool trousers. "Look… we're on our own side now, yeah? What's brought this on now, when we're free from all that? I know how Heaven can muck you up. You know I know. But I just… I hate to see you falling back into their stories. Into their expectations. What's got them back in your head?" 

The redirection of his thoughts allowed Aziraphale to calm down. Momentarily ashamed at his loss of temper, he used a minor miracle to restore the cracked glass, which he then set aside. 

"Force of habit, I suppose," he sighed wearily, folding his hands in his lap. "I would love to put it all out of my head, to put those stories and expectations behind me and move on to better things. Sometimes it just creeps back in and gnaws away at me. Especially now that we've effectively been scratched off the roster, it’s... it's just another failure, something I was supposed to be. And now even that narrative is gone. We're free now, and I'm completely terrified. I..." His lower lip quivered, expression pained and frightened. "I have no meaning and no purpose, and I don't know what to do with myself anymore."

Crowley’s irritation towards Heaven was suddenly overcome with sympathy for Aziraphale, and it showed on his face. He remembered those first few eons after the Fall: the despondency, the resentment, the crushing and unrelenting sorrow. His beloved seemed to be experiencing his own version of that trauma. He patted that knee. "C'mon, best angel, let’s move this to the couch. I know a cuddle won't fix everything, but I'm tired of crouching here and I wanna hold you. That's my purpose right now. Okay?"

The angel sighed a little, and then managed a tiny smile. "... that does sound nice, dear." Laying on the couch with Crowley seemed a far better proposal than staying in his chair and continuing to fall into an alcohol-infused spiral of self-hatred and despair. Rising, a bit wobbly, the angel followed Crowley over to the loveseat with its familiar blankets, and they both settled down onto it. Normally, Aziraphale preferred to wrap his arm around the demon's shoulders, but today, he laid sideways and rested his head on that chest, sliding his arms around the slender waist. 

This was much better. With one arm draped over his angel's shoulder, and the other hand stroking through his hair, Crowley was able to gather his thoughts without the influence of his roiling, protective anger. After a moment, he said, "It’s not exactly the same thing, angel, I know, but... look, I've dealt with some of this before, yeah? The feeling of utter failure, of worthlessness, of despair - that was part of my Fall. And I need you to know, Aziraphale, that I don' think I would've found a way out of it, _really_ out of it, if it hadn't been for you. That day in the Garden, you were...you were kind to me, when I thought no creature would ever be kind to me again. When I thought that kindness had been entirely erased from my existence. You were kind to me, and kind to the humans, and... well, that was worth believing in. Worth going on for." Crowley cleared his throat, and pulled his angel a little closer. "I mean, I could see all sorts of things that made going on worth it: the cleverness of humans and all. But you started it. You treated me like I had worth, when I was convinced that I was only good for working evil, for spoiling anything beautiful. An’ now I wanna do that for you, if I can." He kissed the head he loved so well, silky blonde hair under his lips. "I'm pretty sure if I went on a rant about myself like you just did, that you'd tell me that it was all nonsense and smother me with praise. That’s what I would need. But I’m not you. So what do _you_ need, angel? What can I do to drown those nasty thoughts out?"

Aziraphale remained quiet, listening to the demon's words, absorbing them as best he could. He was still quite drunk, still despairing, and felt a blockage between his understanding of what was being said and actually being able to accept it as truth. Crowley was worthy of kindness and love, of course; he'd been abandoned and scorned for reasons that were completely ruthless, by a God who was capricious at best and malicious at worst. Yet, despite Falling, the demon had done his best to pull himself up and create an image and a life that he wanted... and deep down, the angel also knew that Crowley was fundamentally a much better person than he was. "I don't know," he finally groaned, hiding his face in Crowley's shirt, needing the closeness. "I just... I've failed at so much, and yet I was made this way. The one thing I managed to get right was choosing you, and I very nearly bungled that as well. I don't know how to... how to rectify any of this in my head. I don’t know what I need. I don’t even know what I am right now."

Crowley bit his lip, feeling his heart ache. He was glad that Aziraphale was finally opening up to him emotionally, but he was at a loss. No matter how much he wanted to just swoop in and make everything better, he knew it was much more complex than that. "S'alright, angel. It's...it's messy, yeah? Sorry to push. I just… bless it, I just wish I could make it all better for you. But, hey, will you do something for me?"

"Mm?" Blue eyes flicked up.

"Sober up for me?" The demon gave his angel's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I know a thing or two 'bout being a morose bugger, and it's a damn sight easier when I'm arse-deep in a bottle of whiskey."

"... all right, dear. If you insist." Crowley was right about that; alcohol did dull the sting, but it made wallowing in the sadness that much easier. With a small flex of power, the whiskey bottle on the desk slowly refilled itself, and then the angel smacked his lips softly. That process was never quite as much fun as the getting-drunk part. No longer quite so off-kilter, the angel snuggled back into his demon.

"That's better," Crowley murmured, running his fingers through Aziraphale's hair. "Right nasty process, I know, but I 'preciate you doing it for me. Now- I know I can't fix this, but… maybe it's time to let it alone for a bit, hm? Get a bit of a distraction and tackle it again later, yeah?" He then winced at the brittle hopefulness in his voice. He was no good at just sitting with feelings (ugh). And, anyway, it wasn't as though Aziraphale seemed able to talk about it yet. Might as well remind him of the good in the world in the meantime. "Could make you a cuppa tea, or we could visit that sushi place you like so much. Ooooorrr… I could take you into the bedroom and remind you just how lovely I think you are." The last bit was said with an suggestive eyebrow waggle, in the hopes of bringing levity to the room. 

For once, the angel wasn't ardently interested in tea or food. He was in his nest and didn't want to leave it, and he didn't want Crowley to leave, either. However, the last suggestion, and the way it was made, did make him chuckle. Hmm. A little closeness to his beloved, a reminder that he'd at least gotten _that_ part right, might serve as a distraction from his troubled thoughts. And Crowley was... well, he was very good at distractions. Sitting up, Aziraphale gave the demon a sweet smile, with just a hint of bastard. "That last one sounds quite pleasant, actually. I do like it when you use that marvelous imagination of yours on me."

If Aziraphale had been able to hear Crowley's inner monologue, he would have been treated to the ungraceful sound of gears grinding to a screeching halt. "Ngk - yeah, 'course, angel. 'Course, always." He turned his angel's head to his and pressed his lips to Aziraphale's plush mouth. "You're the best thing in my world, y'know." His hands smoothed over Aziraphale's shoulders, just latching onto his hips. "You've always caught me when I needed it, given me a smile when I was down or shelter from the rain." He shifted his partner to lay between his legs, the better to feel more of his angel under his hands.

The angel was aware that he'd thrown a bit of a curve ball just now, but he also knew Crowley was deft enough to catch it. Yes, this closeness was needed, awareness of his flesh and his desires instead of being stuck in his own head. He leaned into that kiss and hummed when his waist was held, allowing himself to be guided into whatever position the demon wished. "I wanted to be there for you," he murmured, hands sliding under that shirt, across the freckled skin. "To protect you, to shelter you, to catch you and hold you, to show you all the kindness you deserved."

Crowley worried his lip between his teeth. "Nff. M'trying to go slow, angel, but when you say things like that, it bloody well makes me wanna tear your clothes off. Here, budge up a bit so's I can get that jacket and waistcoat off… aw, bugger all. I didn't think this through, just wanted you close. C'mon, let's move to the bed."

The angel laughed softly at that, but was happy to oblige. A few minutes later, they were both in Aziraphale's bedroom, and he was pulling his clothing off piece by piece and laying them neatly over a nearby chair. Excitement was winding through him now, as it always did when he was about to be intimate with Crowley, until he was radiating with it. Very indecent of him, really... but he was allowed to feel it now. "How do you want me?" His voice was more breathy.

Crowley paused in the process of tossing aside his vest to consider. "I want you..." _Relaxed and content at my feet, secure in the knowledge that you're the best of Her creations, and your imperfections only make you better_. "... I want you laid out on your stomach, angel. Get comfy, you might be there for awhile."

That made the angel blink. _Hm? On my stomach?_ Were they going to try some intercrural play again? He knew that Crowley had a deep appreciation for his thighs. Or perhaps massage? Or maybe it would be something new? A little flutter of excitement went through his chest. He nodded and climbed onto the bed, stretched out on his belly a moment later, head rested on folded arms. "Is this good?"

"Perfect." Leaving his pants on for now (he didn't need to be thinking about his own Effort right at this moment), Crowley climbed onto the bed and leaned over to place a kiss between his angel's shoulder blades. "Right. Now… I was thinking about what you said before and got me an idea, but it's a bit different. You're struggling with meaning, yeah? All caught up in that pretty head of yours? I wanna bring you back down." He took a double handful of the angel's glorious arse and squeezed gently. "I wanna ground you right back into this corporation, if that's alright with you. It's a bit new, this, but...erm...well...I got hold of some of your books, you know the ones and… ah, bless it, I'm rambling. What I mean to say is, I want to try giving you a spanking, if you'll allow me."

A squeaky little "oh!" slipped out when his backside was grabbed, but the angel was smiling brightly. The smile faltered at the proposal, though, in exchange for surprise. A spanking? Crowley wanted to spank him? He also knew Crowley had a fixation on his arse (in the same way that he was fixated on Crowley's) and having attention lavished on it was always a delight. Having it struck, however, was something he'd never really considered. "... and you... you think this 'spanking' will help me? The last time I checked, that sort of thing was meant as a punishment for small humans." Those blue eyes looked troubled, needing reassurances. "You're certain it's not a punishment in this case? That I've not... done something wrong?"

"No, no, no, angel, of _course_ you haven't done anything wrong," Crowley replied hastily. He groped for his limited knowledge of the inner workings of the Church. "It's like… well, it's a bit like confession, innit? Or is it reconciliation now? Anyway, it's a bit like that. When you feel bad about something, you confess, do a penance, and then you've had it all out and feel more at peace with life and… stuff. You do the, y’know, the ritual, and then it's easier to move on." His fingers ran down Aziraphale's spine. "See, _I_ don't think you've done anything wrong, but I think _you_ do. And I think you'll feel better if you have a chance to let it out."

Well that was... novel. Aziraphale's mind turned the concept over in his head a few times. He'd done nothing wrong? No, no, surely that was a mistake. He'd done so very much wrong and he'd failed so often, which was just unacceptable for an angel. Perhaps Crowley was right. Perhaps this could be a form of penance, to settle the score. Perhaps he could list out the many things he'd done badly, and repent for them. Yes. "With the usual safewords, I assume? If so, then... then I'd be willing to try it."

Crowley's heart skipped a beat. Oh, he really hoped this particular wild idea would pay off. After all, _he_ found a touch of pain grounding when he was otherwise inclined to suspend his association with his corporation, but it may be different for Aziraphale. "'Course, love. Green-yellow-red, or three-count tap. Don't be afraid to use them, okay?" He ran his hands over his angel's perfect ass again, considering. "M'gonna start now, if you're ready, angel. And...if you feel like talking or telling me about what's going on in your head while we do this, you feel free."

Aziraphale shifted a bit, adjusting the sheets under him and his own legs so that he was more comfortable. His heart was beating quickly now. Would it hurt? Silly question, it was a strike - of course it would hurt. But would it hurt beyond what he could handle? Would it be the pain that moved his heart and excited him, or would it be the pain that stung and made his stomach twist into knots? Nervousness was evident in the angel's clenching and unclenching toes, and the rigid line of his back muscles.

The silence was not missed by the demon as he adjusted his own stance. "Remember, angel: you don' have to do a thing except tell me if it's too much or if you need something else. You just lay there and let me take care of you. Keep breathing for me, now. Gonna warm you up nice and slow, all right?"

"All right." The angel’s voice was a whisper.

Nodding, Crowley bent his fingers, leaving the heel of his hand exposed-( _I’m really going to do this, I’m really going to put my hands on my angel this way_ )-and brought it down on Aziraphale's right cheek, firmly, but not harshly. He left it there, pressing into the muscle, then repeated on the other cheek.

A small yelp came from the angel after the first strike, a noise made less from pain and more because his brain didn't quite know how to process the sensation. The second one elicited a similar sound. It did hurt, a little, but it also tingled with heat and spread deeper, causing his back muscles to relax slowly. _Interesting_...

Crowley paused a moment after those two initial strikes...but Aziraphale didn't object, and, unless his snakes' eyes deceived him, it looked like the angel was relaxing into the idea and the feeling. Excellent. Now, he began to build a steady rhythm, the heel of his hands coming down on his angel's cheeks, again, again, again, focusing on softer, rapid strikes that would warm up the skin. 

Well now. This was very different from the disciplinary spankings Aziraphale had seen in child-rearing books. The parent always looked so grim, and the child so fearful, that the angel was certain it should only be used under the most dire circumstances - and even then, it still seemed dreadful. This was... this was something else. The rhythm was steady, making his body jiggle softly with each blow. This brought pain, but not enough to make him cry out. It reached deeply, past skin, past fat and muscle, down to the very bones of his corporation... and perhaps deeper than that. The angel's bottom was pink by this point, and he could feel that heat was coming off it- and it was moving, creeping up his back, and into his stomach, and down the backs of his thighs. 

"Doing all right, angel?" came Crowley’s voice, checking in. 

"Green," Aziraphale said softly, because he was having trouble finding the proper words to describe it.

"Oh, well done, angel. Well done, indeed." The demon began to strike faster, now, a notion forming in his mind that if he found the right level of force, the right tempo, he could shake those terrible thoughts right out of his beloved's mind. On a passing thought, he moved lower, from Aziraphale's ass to the tops of his luscious thighs; the skin was more delicate here, so his strikes were lighter… but only slightly.

Aziraphale didn't have the strong reaction to praise that Crowley did, but he enjoyed hearing it all the same and it made a little glow form in his chest. The pace continued, no words spoken, just the sound of palms hitting flesh and soft little gasps in responses. His bottom was more rosy now and hot to the touch, and the heat was... everywhere now. It was resting in his shoulders, fogging up his mind, vibrating in his hands and feet, throbbing softly in his groin.The thighs came next and shocked him a little more, as the skin wasn't as thick there. He was hissing and squeaking softly now, flushed and panting, as Crowley struck them, and he wasn't completely sure why. 

Hazy... hot... everything was hot and it hurt and he wanted more.

Crowley felt his corporation - and his, bless it all, _heart_ \- responding to Aziraphale's small noises. That his beautiful angel would trust him with this, that he would allow himself to feel and enjoy it - well, "thy love is better than wine" was certainly taking on new meaning. Some days, he imagined, this would be enough...but not today. Today, this was at least as much about lancing a boil, cleaning a wound, as it was about pure pleasure. 

So. Next steps, then.

"Right, angel - you're doing so very well for me. You always do, don't you? But I've a bit more to ask of you,” the demon murmured, petting that tender backside. “'M gonna go a bit harder. And with every strike, I want you to say something that's been weighing on your mind. Start getting it all out there. And each strike, angel, each impact is gonna knock that thing away, out of your orbit, okay? For now, at least."

_Hm? What? There’s more?_ One angelic ear managed to tune in to what Crowley was saying, despite his head being so clouded. Saying things... ah, was it time for the 'confession' portion to begin? Aziraphale pushed the fog back, just a little, so he could prepare his penance. But... oh, it wasn't penance? He was just... saying things that were troubling him, and then having them (quite literally) struck from his mind? A twisted feeling began to coil in his stomach. That wasn't right. He'd failed, he'd done wrong, he should be _punished._ "I... I don't even know where to start."

Crowley gently set his nails in his angel's ass - not enough to hurt, only enough to change the sensation. "Angel, my love, that's the point. You don't have to think. You just respond with whatever's at the top of your mind. There's no way to get it wrong. Now, deep breath, and-” Crowley brought the heel of his hands down, _hard,_ on his angel's ass, letting the impact reverberate and willing it to shake loose the thoughts troubling his angel.

The nails made Aziraphale squirm a little, feeling blood rushing into his groin. He didn't have to think about it? Just... speak whatever was troubling him? No, no, that couldn't be right, it was too- "Hyah!" That last strike was hard and made his hip rock on the bed, the border from pleasure to pain crossed. Then, slowly it retreated, leaving hot rippling in its wake. "I... er...!" _Come now, my head was full of these thoughts less than an hour ago_. "Ah- my... my books. I've fallen behind on the inventory since Armageddon, and the... the lower shelves are a complete wreck."

A smile curled Crowley's lips. Only his angel would feel actual guilt about neglecting inventory in a shop that was more a museum than a place of business. He was quite certain that this wasn't the heart of Aziraphale's guilt and trauma. Still, it was a start. He stroked those lovely, rosy cheeks and kissed his angel's shoulder. "There you go. That wasn’t so bad, right? You're doing so well, Aziraphale, trusting me like this."

That hadn't been so bad, Aziraphale thought. Indeed, it was rather like shaking out a dusty, old rug. There were a few things in this area that he could stand to get off his chest, that shouldn't hurt too badly for someone else to hear.

Another strike landed, hard and deep in the muscle - "And now, angel? What else?"

"Ghh! Ngh... the, um... the driving exam I was meant to take last month? I never took it. I didn't... I didn't even go to the appointment you made for me, didn't set foot in the building." The angel bit his lip, feeling guilt for that in his gut. "... I know it was my idea. I wanted to stop having to rely on you to drive me everywhere. Not that I mind it, it's just- just-"... then he mumbled something unintelligible.

...Crowley hadn't known about that. Not that it truly mattered - he'd said he didn't mind chauffeuring Aziraphale about London and he meant it, but there was the faintest sting at the deception. Almost immediately, however, that sting was covered over by a wash of pity. How much anxiety had the angel been holding onto, that he felt he couldn't tell Crowley these things? How much guilt, over things undone or secrets kept? The poor thing! "What were you saying, right at the end there? Out with it, angel."

Another strike, same as the others, jostling, shaking, and Aziraphale squeaked. The angel had felt truly bad about that one, not showing up in a fit of nervousness, after Crowley had gone to the trouble to help him make the appointment and find the proper instruction books for studying. "Ahh! I didn't-" He groaned, like the words were being twisted from his mouth. "I didn't want to be a burden on you! You- You drive me everywhere, you anticipate things I might like or want, you're always thinking of me and doing for me! Learning to drive, it was really the least I could do in return and yet... and yet I was too afraid!" Then he put his face into the sheets, nape flushing bright red. Pathetic, he was pathetic.

That one startled the demon. "Angel,” he said gently but firmly. “After this, we're going to have a long talk about just how much I love it when you let me take care of you… but, for now, thank you for telling me. Now it's said, and you can let it go. You don't have to carry it anymore." Crowley bent to kiss his angel, turning his head to bring their lips together briefly, but warmly. "Another one for me, all right?" A swift strike, shallower than the others, landed on Aziraphale's thighs with a _crack!_

Hm. Despite his shame at confessing this petty, troublesome sin, Aziraphale did feel slightly better having said it. It was in the wind now, and Crowley wasn't angry with him for it, even after knowing what happened. He was even kissed, praised. Perhaps... A high yelp slipped out, thigh stinging fiercely. Something twisted inside him again, something dark and ugly in his stomach that was trying to come out, lodging in his diaphragm and making it harder to breathe. There were things to be said, plenty of them, and he was quite sure that he wanted to say none of them. Too pathetic. Too weak. "I..." His hands fisted in the sheets, voice strained, the back muscles tightening again. "...I- I can't, Crowley, I can’t."

It wasn’t a safeword, but Crowley was watching his beloved closely all the same. "Angel, you can.” A loving hand rested on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I've loved you for millennia, and there's not a bloody thing you could say that would change that. You can do this. You've got your safewords if you need them. Unless I hear ‘yellow’ or ‘red’, I’m going to continue. What do you say?"

The angel was quivering, uncertain, feeling this pull to confess, to vomit this turmoil onto the bed. Was it safe? Would he be punished if he told? No, more likely that he would be punished if he didn't, and that was terrifying... and yet, it was Crowley, not some heartless Archangel. 

Crowley. His Crowley. He swallowed. "... again, please. Hard." Just barely a whisper. He had the makings of something, but it was sticking in his throat.

_Oh, angel._ Tears pricked in his eyes, and for a moment, Crowley wanted to throw over this whole idea and just take his angel safe and warm in his arms. But, no, he couldn’t. Aziraphale was trusting him with this. Aziraphale asked for harder. "'Course, love. Whatever you need." A sharp, speedy _pop_ followed - an open-handed slap, with more bite and sting than the strikes Crowley had been giving with the heel of his hand. 

The crisp slap to his backside was harder than any before, biting the skin like needles and making the angel flinch and squirm. It hurt, damn it all, it _hurt_ and he was hot and furious, and then he gripped the sheets and opened his mouth.

"I am a burden." 

There, it was out, and it kept coming. "I have always, _always_ been a burden. It didn't matter where I was, or who was around, or what I was doing. Any task, any assignment, any role I was given, I could never do it well enough. Someone always had to cover for me, to rescue me, to- to pick up my slack. I kept bungling everything horribly, but I did try..." His knuckles were white. "I did try, bless it- damn it all, I _tried_ and it still wasn't good enough!" The vicious, curling thing in his chest was starting to come out, bleeding through the angel's mouth, staining everything. It was no good, no good, this was dreadful, he was going to ruin everything, it was going to break apart and it would be his fault. Again.

Teeth grinding, Crowley wrestled with the impulse to hunt down each and every heavenly being who'd ever made Aziraphale feel less than radiant. _Breathe, breathe. We're getting somewhere with this, finally. No one said it was gonna be easy._ "Good, angel, very good.” His hands stroked along the angel’s quivering spine, soothing. “I hate that you've had to carry this around in your head for so long, but you're getting it out and that's what matters. Give me a little more. I can tell there's more in there." Two swift smacks were dealt this time, one on each cheek of his angel's sore ass. There was something else, something underlying all this insecurity and feelings of unworthiness, that Crowley was determined to draw out.

Aziraphale whimpered softly from the twin blows, legs shifting on the bed, pulling at the sheets. "I hurt you," he moaned, feeling wretched. "At the... At the bandstand, and so many times before that, I hurt you with my fear and my prejudice and my holier-than-thou nonsense. You were so patient, so understanding, and I just hurt you and made you suffer over and over again, just because I was a stupid, _stupid_ coward."

Something snapped in Crowley, and he couldn't stand to be so removed from his angel when he was working so hard to make himself vulnerable. He straddled Aziraphale's legs and scraped his nails over the inflamed skin. "You are so brave, and you have always done your best for us, angel. C'mon, give me more, Aziraphale. Give me everything." He dug his nails in a little harder and shook them, admiring the way the warm, red flesh shivered under his grasp.

Huh? What was happening? Crowley was moving, Crowley was on his legs. Was this part of the spanking? Ahh, but the contact felt good, the weight holding him in place.... weight that Aziraphale could easily displace, yet would not. Nails dug into the tender skin then, the pain less fleeting and more constant, reaching deep down into fat and muscle, firing off nerve endings that made the angel cry out and nearly tear the sheets. Something was coming up, something was going to pour out, something was cracking and he was afraid, afraid, _afraid-_ "Nnnuh, no, it's too much, I can't say it, I ca-han't..." His voice had gotten higher, a whipped dog's whine, and he vainly tried to pull away, to drag himself out from under the demon's claws.

No, that wouldn’t do. Crowley leaned forward, sliding one hand into the hair at the nape of Aziraphale's neck, getting a firm grip, while pressing his other hand in the middle of his angel's back. "Yes, you can. For me, you can." He tightened the hand in Aziraphale's hair, grounding himself in his angel's warm, writhing form, attuning himself to the panting breath, the rushing heart of his beloved. "Say it for me, principality. Say it."

Hand on his back, hand in his hair, holding him down.

Caught, the angel was caught, there was no escaping, no running away this time. Heat was everywhere, heat was inside his head, melting, melting. 

"I... I am..." 

No, no, it was too much. His hands were shaking, eyes squeezed shut. 

… For Crowley.

_"I am a_ **_bad angel_ ** _."_

Then his heart cracked in half and the words flowed like poison. "I am a bad, wicked angel who can't do anything right," he wailed into the bed. "I'm a liar, a glutton, a worthless coward, and a betrayal of everything I was made to be! I’m a useless creation! All I can do is hurt others and fail, and I should've never been _made!_ " Heaving a sob, Aziraphale covered his head with his hands, a shield against the punishment, the backlash that was surely coming to strike him down.

That was it, that was the crux of it all. Crowley immediately stilled his hands and draped himself over Aziraphale's back, kissing everywhere he could reach and murmuring praises. "There, there, love, I’m here. Oh, my dove, my heart, you were so brave for me." 

Falling, Aziraphale was falling into pieces, and the stain of his sins spread like ink across paper, like the torrid waters of a flash flood.

The only thing that kept him from flying apart was the warm, anchoring pressure of Crowley on his back. 

Angels didn't cry. Angels never cried. 

But he was such a very bad angel, and so he covered his face and sobbed piteously, mournfully, until his shoulders heaved, until his stomach muscles cramped, until there was nothing left and the shards of his heart lay scattered beneath his ribs.

Crowley drew on every bit of his serpentine nature to twine as fully and snugly around Aziraphale as possible. It was truly heartbreaking to hear his angel weep, but… it was part of the process, wasn't it? Hadn't he spent a much longer time raging and weeping after coming to terms with his own situation in the universe? Just holding, grounding his beloved. That was the ticket, for sure. "That’s right, angel,” he murmured into his beloved’s ear. “Let it all out. I know it hurts, I do. You’re so strong and kept such a tight hold on it for so long, and now you can let it all go… that’s it..."

The angel beneath him whimpered again. It did hurt. His everything hurt, inside and out. The skin of his backside was inflamed and throbbing, the divots from Crowley's claws stinging with sweat. His voice was hoarse, eyelids swollen, nose stuffy and running. Crowley was on him, entwined with him, keeping his feet on the ground. 

Yes... as always, Crowley had Aziraphale's back. Always there, always catching him. "I'm so sorry, my dear," he finally whispered, brokenly. "For everything. You've always been there for me, and I did so wrong by you."

"Sssh," Crowley stroked that sweaty hair, gently, soothing, "S’all in the past now. Over and gone. You were always good to me, kinder than I could've hoped - oysters and crepes and a shelter from the storm - and now, we've got the rest of time to get better at being good to each other, yeah?" _Where do I go from here? There's still so much more to say, so much more I want to give...one step at a time, though. Comfort, normalcy - that's what we want._ "Here, love,” he added. “What do you say to a lovely, warm bath?"

The angel laid there, the sobbing finally fading into soft sniffling and the occasional shudder. The pieces of his heart, of him, were slowly crawling back together as they listened to the serpent's voice. It was a fiercely difficult thing he'd just done, revealing the foulest corners of himself and laying his petty weaknesses bare... and yet, he was not punished, or chastised, or cast down, or made to feel inferior. "Mm..." A lovely, warm bath...? Aziraphale sniffled again. "Will you get in with me?"

The answer was instant: "'Course I will. Like I’d ever pass up a shot at being all cozied up to you in hot water. Will you be all right if I leave you here long enough to draw it, or shall I miracle it up?"

Normally, the angel would insist that doing such mundane things The Usual Way was best, especially since they were more limited in their power since Armageddon’t. But this time, this time Aziraphale couldn't bear the thought of being separated from his demon, not even for the scant few minutes it would take to draw a bath. "Miracle it," he murmured, grasping Crowley’s slender wrist. "I need you here."

With a snap, the tub in the other room was filled with gloriously warm water, and the bathroom began to fill with steam. "And done.” Crowley carefully climbed off Aziraphale, stood, and extended his hand. "Confession is over, angel. Now it's time for cleansing."

The angel blinked slowly. Yes... he'd confessed, hadn't he? The stain of his transgressions, his many failures, was fresh on his skin. 

And now Crowley, that marvelous serpent, was going to wash him clean.

His tongue felt thick and heavy, and so he just nodded and took the demon's hand, sitting up and allowing himself to be led into the steamy bathroom. His enormous, claw-footed antique tub was waiting for them, the water cloudy with rose-milk bath salts. It wasn't long before they were both resting in it, Aziraphale between Crowley's legs, head under the demon's chin. The water was the perfect temperature, and the familiar floral scent calmed the angel's frayed nerves. "Mmm..."

"That’s right, love." Crowley ran slick hands over the arms, chest, neck he loved so well, assuring himself that his angel was whole, was here with him. "Close your eyes, all right? Gonna wet your hair." Rather than move from their position, Crowley scooped up water in his cupped hands, emptying them over his beloved's head. 

Aziraphale shifted just a little, giving Crowley better access. The water poured over his head, once, twice, thrice, and very faintly, the angel smiled. He'd seen this happen in many churches and cathedrals over the millennia. 

He was being baptized. By a demon, no less.

That was all right. There was no one else, above or below, in this world or the next, that Aziraphale wanted to consecrate him, to purify him, to stitch the pieces of him back together and make him whole again.

The serpent scooped up the shampoo bottle, dispensed a generous dollop, and began working his long fingers through the moth-white hair. "Wanna know something true, angel?” Crowley murmured. “It's _because_ you're a bad angel, by their standards, that you're the best angel of them all. It’s _because_ you're not cold, removed, unquestioning, and 'perfect' that I love you so fucking much. You care for this cocked-up, glorious world so much, and it's gorgeous on you.” He brushed bubbles from that pale forehead. “Your desire makes you shine more than any star I ever made. I love to see you _want_ , angel, to see you invested in something. I love your prissiness and your fussiness, and the way you care about things like inventory and the exact sweetness of your cocoa.”

Aziraphale flushed at the demon’s words, but remained silent and listened. As his mind quieted by the fingers working shampoo into his hair, he felt something else creak and reshape itself inside his chest. Crowley didn't love him despite his angelic flaws, but because of them? His quirks, his imperfections, his glaring eccentricities were not a burden, but... a blessing?

He swallowed and lowered his head. A tear slid down his face, then another, and he didn't bother wiping them away. 

Then he paused as a thought occurred to him.

He was a Bad Angel. Bad Angels were punished, scorned, cast down from Heaven.

Like Crowley had been. Yes, that's right: Crowley had been a Bad Angel, once. 

And now, sitting naked in a tub with him, Crowley was also probably a Very Bad Demon.

The irony of that was so delicious that it struck him right in the funny bone, and the angel called Aziraphale, who was so very bad, began to laugh through his tears. 

"Good lord, we're- we're both terrible, aren't we?” he exclaimed gleefully. “Heaven's worst angel getting his arse beat red by Hell's worst demon!"

Those washing hands stopped, and the uncoolest, unsexiest snorting laugh _ever_ exploded from Crowley.

And he was so (very, very) relieved to hear his angel laughing that he wasn't even troubled by this egregious breach of his image. "Yeah, angel," he wheezed. "Yeah, we are. The pair of us, worst of our lots, wholly incompetent at following ineffable orders, with no side but our own. And Aziraphale, love?" He bent to kiss his angel's lovely shoulder, as his neck was a bit sudsy with shampoo. "Being on our own side, building a home here in this wondrously messy world, and maybe protecting it a bit, is all the meaning I need. Being good to you, angel, is my north star, my guiding light. I'm so very glad I get to set my course by you."

Blood rushed up Aziraphale's nape and colored his face. Crowley wasn't usually the most poetic, but when he was... well, he really, really was. "I am... I am overwhelmed and confounded by your love for me, my dear," he said quietly, "And yet, I'm also immeasurably grateful to have it. You make me a better angel." He went quiet for a little while, letting the demon rinse his hair. The sticky tear tracks on his face gradually faded, and the uneasy tensions in his belly settled and sighed. "But you know," he added, almost timidly. "I can be rather daft. So I may need you to remind me now and then that- that it's all right for me to be a bad angel. That being a bad angel is... is not a shameful thing."

"Angel... I..." In the face of such tender vulnerability, Crowley devolved into very expressive and increasingly incoherent vocalizations, at last giving up and wrapping his arms around his angel's soft shoulders and holding on tight. "If'n you weren't a bit daft, you wouldn't be mine. And angel…” Here, he laid a brief kiss to Aziraphale's ear. "...I will tell you, as often as you like, and in considerable detail, just what a gloriously terrible angel you are, and give you any number of demonstrations of just how attractive I find that. But for now, let's get you out before we turn into plums. I mean, apricots. I mean- oh, those wrinkly buggers. Out of the bath, and onto the bed with you, angel. I wanna put some medicine on that gorgeous ass."

"Raisins," the angel supplied, almost as an afterthought, and then nodded. They got out of the bathtub, dried off, and then returned to the bedroom. Aziraphale laid on the bed again, facedown, and winced very softly when Crowley began to spread some kind of tingling anti-inflammatory cream on his tender bottom. After a moment, though, it became very soothing. He felt himself sighing and pushing back into those hands, as if the demon's fingers were slowly drawing out all the heat and pain. _Ah... so nice, so nice_. It was a good sequence, he thought. First the punishing, then the cleansing, and then the healing.

Crowley took advantage of the moment not only to appreciate his angel's rear, but to let some of his own thoughts coalesce. What he'd said in the tub was completely true: he would be happy to do this, or something like it, as often as Aziraphale needed it. That said, he was also getting the impression that his partner might rather enjoy doling out these sharper sensations without the same height of emotional need around it. Just, say, for the fun of it. "Hey, angel - no, no, stay as you are. No need to move," he reassured, as Aziraphale made to twist himself to face Crowley. "I was just wondering, for my edification, how you felt about the whole spanking... thing. How was that for you? Would you, erm, ever want to do it again?"

Aziraphale snorted and then hummed softly, reflecting on the experience from a more impersonal stance. How was it for him? Did he enjoy it, or was it merely punishment? Could it be more? He took a moment to picture Crowley striking his backside just for the amusement of watching it jiggle, for the pleasure of the sounds he made, and his Effort gave a rather distinct twitch. "I think I'd like that," he admitted, ears pink. "It was... well, it was rather exhilarating, to be struck in such a way." The flush moved down the back of his neck. "And also to be pinned in such a way. If I hadn't been so, er, distracted at the time, I'd have been unreasonably excited by that."

The last of the cream rubbed in, Crowley stretched himself alongside his beloved, not trying to repress his grin. "Brilliant, angel. I can't wait to see what you like, really like, best in that area - it's like a whole new cuisine to try! Pants and reservations not required! But now, erm..." _We've cleaned up, you've reassured him, checked in and gotten feedback...oh! Of course._ "...assuming your Effort doesn't want my loving attention right this minute, how about I put on the kettle and cut you a slice of that strawberry cream cake you liked so much? Bit of a snack and a snuggle by the fire?"

The angel’s Effort _was_ partially hard, but the urge to deal with it was not pressing. Aziraphale was thrashed and weary from the inside and out, and a snack-n-snuggle sounded like paradise. He wiggled and turned over so that he was facing the serpent, smiling and cupping that angular jaw tenderly. "That sounds perfect, my dear, thank you. What on Earth did I do to deserve you? You always take such good care of me."

Detaching himself from his angel with only minimal bluster at the idea that Aziraphale deserved anything less than everything he could provide, Crowley scampered to the kitchen to prepare the snacks. 

While Crowley did so, Aziraphale pulled on his favorite set of Egyptian cotton pajamas (tartan, of course) and then selected a lovely, soft throw blanket from the closet and a pillow from the bed, making himself comfortable on the rug in front of the fireplace. 

It only took a few minutes for the demon to reappear, tea and cake slices balanced on a tray, and join his beloved on the floor. "Here y'are, love. It's no body and blood, but that always seemed a bit stingy as a followup to confession, for me. We'll do it like the pagans today, yeah?” With that, he cut a single bite of the cake and offered it, like a sacrament. “May you never hunger for anything I can give you, angel." 

_Oh!_ The angel giggled in delight when the cake bite was offered to him as a 'communion'. Confession, penance, healing... reconnection. He opened his mouth and accepted the treat, humming softly as the tangy fruit and delicately sweet cream spread over his tongue. Then, playfully, he crossed himself, as the Catholics would, which made Crowley laugh.

"Aw, angel, no crosses here... at least, none of that sort," the demon teased. "I'll get you a different kind of cross, if you're really that hard up for one. Strap you to it and see just how much you like recreational beatings, eh?" 

The blood that rushed into Aziraphale's face right then was red enough to stop traffic in downtown Soho, and Crowley cackled so hard that he nearly spilled his tea. “You are ridiculous and I love you.” Then he yawned. “Well. I’m just gonna curl up for a bit.”With every bit of his serpentine nature on display, Crowley slunk under the throw and rested his head on Aziraphale’s padded lap.

Aziraphale, in turn, laughed softly and stroked the serpent's hair with his free hand. "Thank you so much, my dear," he whispered. "For everything." 

His voice was warm, warm like the fire crackling on the hearth. Crowley flushed and snuggled in closer, gurgling something incoherent, and then dozed off soon afterwards.

Nibbling at his cake, Aziraphale reflected on the bizarre and wonderful encounter he'd just shared with his beloved. 

A lot of things had been said on this day.

Things that rotted inside him.

Things that made him feel shameful and weak.

Things that were simply no longer true... and if he believed the demon, had never been true from the start.

If only he'd known sooner that a sure strike to the rear and a soft voice in his ear was all he needed to face the truth.

Humans were truly remarkable creatures, able to feel so intensely and give such power to spoken word.

The angel smiled to himself, leaning into the gentle heat of his love and his home, and was at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Art! Look at the pretties! And then go look at the rest of [Gearsmoke](/users/Gearsmoke/)'s GO art. 
> 
> [Spanking in progress.](https://i.imgur.com/I5kEubv.jpg)
> 
> [Aftercare bath.](https://i.imgur.com/jFooj6T.jpg)


End file.
